


Letters Never Sent

by purplespacecats



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, The lost years
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-26 22:30:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1704902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplespacecats/pseuds/purplespacecats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus writes to Sirius during the lost years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

November 12th, 1981

Padfoot,

I should’ve known that only another monster could love a monster like me. You’ve had a monster inside of you all this time, just like me. What did it feel like to know the monster had won? To realize that you’d caused the deaths of innocents? I’m afraid I’ll lose control like you did; I want to know what it’ll feel like.

It was the full moon last night. The first one I’ve spent alone in 6 years. I didn’t know how to prepare or what to do, and as I transformed I was convinced that that would be the night I finally hurt someone, but I woke up in the same room I’d trapped myself in. I must be going mad even in wolf form, because I was convinced Peter was there. There must have been some rat in the room, and Moony mistook it for Wormtail. Thinking one of my pack was there calmed me down.

When I was undercover with the werewolf packs, many of them told me that they wished they could stay in wolf form. I used to be appalled by this idea, but now I understand. For the first time since that night, I wasn’t in pain. I even thought I had Peter back. When I’m a wolf, everything is simple; wolves don’t grieve like men do. Now I dread the month that stretches out before me and long for the next moon.

I should hate you for the agony you’ve caused me. I have nothing now; you’ve taken everything that was good in my life. I should hate you, but I can’t because I understand. The monster inside of you won. I of all people can’t blame you for that. Though it’s utterly mad, I’m still

Yours,

Moony


	2. Chapter 2

January 3rd, 1983

Padfoot,

I’ve moved away from London now and left wizarding society almost entirely. Supporting myself with the restrictions on werewolves is entirely impossible. For the first few months after Halloween, I didn’t even try to find work. I barely left our flat. One would think that it’d be worse for me to be there with all the traces of you, but, perversely, I think that it was the only thing that kept me sane. Certainly, Order members coming by with meals on a regular basis was the only thing that kept me alive. Some tried to chat despite my semi-catatonic state, which was frustrating and exhausting for all parties involved. I most appreciated visits from Moody; he never minds silence, so he only stayed to make sure I ate without bothering to attempt conversation. I also valued Andromeda’s visits; she was the only one who could get me to open up. She understood more than anyone; she mourns you as well. We reminisced together, trading stories of your wilder schemes. Reminding ourselves of who you used to be, or, at least, who we thought you were, helped us both cope.

I actually tried to send the first letter I wrote you. It was complete madness; of course they don’t allow prisoners in Azkaban to receive letters. It was returned, thankfully unopened, with a letter from the Ministry explaining this policy and offering their condolences. I think the act of sending the letter in itself may be a criminal offense, but whoever received the letter must have known who I am and taken pity on me. Everyone looks on me with pity in the wizarding world, yet they can’t disguise their joy that the war is over when they speak of the events of Halloween. I can’t blame them, and James, Lily, and Peter were all willing to sacrifice themselves for the greater good; otherwise they wouldn’t have joined the order. Nonetheless, my more selfish side wishes Voldemort were still at large, if it would mean that I’d have all four of you back.

As I said, I’ve left wizarding society. I’ve also left London and gotten a flat out in Coventry, where I’m working at a grocer’s shop. My employer is under the impression that I have a compromised immune system, a Muggle disability that results in frequent illness, so I tell him I’ve fallen ill the day before each moon. I worry that he’ll notice the pattern and grow suspicious, but that’s probably leftover paranoia from my time trying to hold down wizarding jobs. I’ve found that Muggles are rather unobservant as a whole, which works to my advantage.

I’m also seeing someone: Rachel McCarthy. She’s the reason I say I’ve not entirely left wizarding society; she’s a witch and a werewolf. In wizarding London we tend to find each other, either in Ministry queues, secure places for transformation, or bottles of firewhisky on weekdays at the Cauldron. Rachel lives with me now, and she uses the same excuse as me for her absences from her job as a waitress. It’s a great help to have someone with me on the full moon again. For the first several transformations after Halloween, I continued to imagine that Peter was there, but eventually I must’ve come to my senses. However, I am grateful for that temporary madness, because without it I might not have been able to restrain myself. Now, however, Rachel and I have found an abandoned cottage in the countryside and charmed it to keep us inside during the moon. We both hurt ourselves less when we transform together than we did when we were alone.

You’d like Rachel, I’m sure (though I suppose, in a strange way, she’s your romantic rival; that could complicate your relationship a tad.) She’s very witty; her being jaded (as most werewolves are) just adds to her dry sense of humour. However, she’s more outgoing and hopeful than any other werewolf I’ve met. She seems determined to be happy, if only to spite those who hate us. She scoffs at my interest in classic literature, preferring to devour Muggle science fiction novels. She’s such a morning person that sometimes it feels like having James back; she’s just as keen on throwing open the blinds and trying to bribe me out of bed with the promise of breakfast hours before I’ve any hope of regaining full consciousness. She detests any form of commitment, but that suits me as well nowadays. Transience is a lifestyle we’ve both become accustomed to; we never know when our lycanthropy might uproot us again. Therefore, our relationship is casual; nonetheless, it is a source of mutual comfort.

Though the pain of grief never fully leaves me, I find contentment now and then. Being with Rachel and keeping busy with work both help. Nowadays, my thoughts of you and James and Peter and Lily are more often fond reminiscing than lamentation. I hold onto the belief that those we love never truly leave us, even when they’ve departed this physical plane. I remain the sentimental fool you always teased me for being. As for you; well. I’d tell you that it’s impossible to fall out of love with you, but you’re already convinced of that. You always were a conceited bastard.

Love,

Moony


	3. Chapter 3

March 5th, 1985

Dear Padfoot,

Today I saw a man in a leather jacket on a motorbike, and I felt what I can only describe as homesickness. That’s how I miss you; I’d never felt more at home than when I was in your arms.

It won’t do to dwell on that, though; I’ve a new home now, and I really am happy here. Rachel’s no longer in my life; two years ago she decided to go off to America, where the wizarding community is more progressive with werewolf rights. She was tired of being cut off from the wizarding world and having to hide so much of her life from all her friends, save me. She was bitten not long before I met her, so unlike me, she hasn’t adopted subterfuge as a lifestyle. I’ve stayed in the Muggle world and in jolly old England, though I have moved to Bath. You know how much I love ancient places; I quite like it here. I’ve found a nice office job, answering phones and the like. It’s rather tedious, but it’s not bad all things considered. The only drawback is that they won’t hire me full time due to my frequent absences, but I work enough to make ends meet. I’ve even started taking night classes at a local Uni. I never understood why we don’t have wizarding Uni; there’s so much more we could learn! You’d’ve hated being expected to suffer through more classes, I’m sure. Anyway, I’m studying history, French, and literature. I’d like to study sciences, but you really need to have gone to Muggle school to understand anything.

I’ve started dating Ryan, a Muggle in my literature class. We’ve got a flat together, and I explain my monthly absences by saying I’m visiting my ailing father and that he can’t come along because my father doesn’t know about my bisexuality. The latter bit is true enough, but I haven’t actually been to visit him much at all; I keep my distance because I reckon I’ve been enough of a burden to him already. He deserves peace and quiet in his last years of life. By the same token, I suppose I’m inflicting myself on Ryan, but I’m too selfish to deprive myself the pleasure of his company. He’s very unassuming and quiet, but I’ve found he holds very strong opinions that he’ll explain at length once I get him to open up. He’s gay, though he has no problem with my being bisexual (a surprising amount of gay men do.) He’s quite involved in the gay rights movement, which has been gaining steam recently, yet he’s reasonably understanding of my need to remain inconspicuous in all aspects of my life. I’ve told him in no uncertain terms that I’m not capable of long-term commitment, and he’s said he’s alright with that, but I can tell that he’s frustrated with my relative emotional distance. He’ll probably leave me before I him because of it, but I intend to enjoy his company while I’ve got the chance.

He’s heard of you, believe it or not. I suppose it’s not that surprising; Muggles may not notice much, but the death of twelve of their own can’t be expected to slip their notice. They’ve even given the event a catchy moniker: the All Saints Day massacre. Ryan was properly shocked to find out that you’re my ex-boyfriend (and even calling you an ex seems wrong still; we didn’t exactly get a chance to break up. Being with other people still feels a bit like cheating.) He’s asked me a lot about you, but it’s hard to explain our relationship without delving into my furry little problem or magic in general. Because of that, Ryan is under the impression that talking about you is too hard for me, but quite the opposite is true. Even though you’re long gone, I still crave you. I’ve kept a regular correspondence with Andromeda; we both still need someone with whom to talk about you. She’s my only magical contact left save my father, and I’ve sworn her to secrecy about my location (she says I’m being rather overdramatic about the whole thing—I must’ve gotten that tendency from you.) No one else in the wizarding world could find me, save Dumbledore I expect. I doubt anyone would particularly want to find me, but I’d rather they not have the option either way.

Now that Rachel and I have gone our separate ways, I’m alone again for the moons. I’ve thought of seeking out other werewolves, but while it’s easy to find werewolves in general, it’s harder to find werewolves who weren’t Death Eaters or sympathizers. I can’t say I blame them, really. The choice for us was between two evils; I just opted for the known evil. Who knows whether or not Voldemort would’ve been good to his word and bettered things for werewolves had he been successful, but he’d’ve been hard pressed to make things any worse than the Ministry does. When I was undercover, many of them were absolutely bewildered about why any werewolf would side with the Ministry when all they’ve ever done is oppress and demonize us. Of course, none of the werewolves who held this view were Muggleborn. I sometimes wonder about why you switched sides originally. I did have my suspicious that you had, you know, but I tried to convince myself that it was just paranoia that led me to distrust you towards the end. Did you think of me? Did you think that if Voldemort won, I’d be better off? I like to imagine that that was the case, but at some point you reached the point of no return and the darkness you’d been brought up in took over. I never said anything, but it was clear that you hadn’t entirely unlearned the toxicity your family taught you. It was always small things; you’d say you didn’t need to study because it was “in your blood,” you’d reference someone’s blood status when it wasn’t relevant, or you’d treat Muggleborns as curiosities. It made me uncomfortable, but I didn’t think much of it; you always denounced explicit prejudice, so I assumed it didn’t matter if you slipped up now and again. I suppose I should have spoken up, but I always was much more cowardly than my sorting would suggest. I believe I’m rambling now: the product of nearly five years’ worth of brooding on the matter.

Speaking of my brooding, I’ve started seeing a therapist, which is like a Muggle healer for the mind. I talk to her about you and everyone else I’ve lost, and she helps me find coping mechanisms. She’s also suggested antidepressants, a sort of Muggle cheering draught, but I feel I get by fine without them. Having someone whom I don’t feel like I’m burdening by talking about my pain is helpful enough. I’m getting by.

I love and miss you dearly.

Your Moony


	4. Chapter 4

October 9th 1987

Dear Padfoot,

I continue my self-imposed exile in the Muggle world. I’ve moved from place to place, job to job, and lover to lover, never allowing myself to grow too attached to any place or anyone. It seems that the moment I do grow attached, my furry little problem rears its ugly head. Even though Muggles never suspect lycanthropy, they lose patience for my frequent absence. Some employers come to realize that I’m not being honest about the cause of my absences, and some simply tell me that they can’t afford to have an employee in such poor health. One Muggle woman I dated was convinced that I was leaving each month to see a lady friend in London. In reality, I leave for abandoned, remote buildings that I can charm inconspicuously. In one such place, I met Lysander, who shares my condition. We’re now flatmates in Manchester. He was married, but his wife left him when he was bitten. To make him feel better, I’m half tempted to tell him that his romantic misadventures are nothing compared to mine, seeing as the love of my life is serving life in Azkaban after murdering my best friends, but I think I’ll keep our romantic history private. You know how straight men can get; I don’t want him to make a fuss about flat-sharing with a pouf such as myself.

I’m not seeing anyone at the moment, but Lysander has roped me into a double date with a pair of Muggle birds next weekend. We’re going out for—horror of all horrors—karaoke. May the powers that be grant me strength.

Despite his unfortunate taste in romantic pastimes, I hugely appreciate Lysander’s friendship. Having another werewolf to talk to is a great comfort, and having someone with me for the full moon makes everything easier. However, I’ll never stop missing spending moons with you, Wormtail, and Prongs. Lysander has to transform with me; you lot chose to. Though I haven’t had need to lately, the memory I can always use to conjure a patronus is when you told me you’d become animagi for me. Truly, you couldn’t have given me a better gift, and the pain of loss doesn’t diminish how much I treasure it to this day.

I still have moments when I forget I’ve lost you all. The other day I was watching the telly and the Doctor did something particularly daft and I thought of owling Lily about it. Last month the Ramones released a new album, and I thought I should buy it for Peter. By far, the most painful of these lapses in sanity are when I wake up in the middle of the night and expect to find you lying next to me before I remember where you are. God damn it Padfoot, I want so badly to hate you for what you did but I still can’t.

Love always,

Moony


	5. Chapter 5

March 18th, 1990

Padfoot,

Dad died. I was lucky enough to be there for his last few weeks. I was there to see him go, too. He looked me in the eye, said “I’m so sorry,” and then died. He never stopped blaming himself for my condition, insisting that it was his fault for having provoked Greyback. It didn’t matter how many times I told him that Greyback was the only one at fault.

“I’m so sorry.” I wouldn’t be surprised if those were my last words as well.

I wish you could’ve been there for the funeral. Dad always liked you. Well, you know, before.

Moony


	6. Chapter 6

June 14th 1993  
Dear Padfoot,

Dumbledore found me. I always knew he’d be able to, but I didn’t anticipate his reasons for coming. He’s offered me a professorship at Hogwarts teaching Defence against the Dark Arts. I’ve been having trouble holding down a job recently because the moons have been harder on me (I’m becoming an old man well before my time) so I accepted the offer. Of course, there’s the chance that I’ll die horribly at the end of the year; by all accounts, the position is still cursed, but I’d hardly be a Marauder if I let a little danger scare me off.

Knowing I’ll be returning to Hogwarts will be surreal. I haven’t been back there since we graduated, which feels like a lifetime ago. I’m both dreading and looking forward to the reminders of you, Prongs, and Wormtail that will be everywhere in the castle. I’ve decided to take the train over rather than apparating to Hogsmeade partially because the start of the term is right after the full moon, but mostly because I’m a nostalgic masochist.

James’s son will be there. If my maths is correct, he’ll be in his third year. When he was placed with his aunt and uncle, Dumbledore explained in no uncertain terms to the Order that he was to have no contact with the wizarding world until he entered Hogwarts, yet even after he turned eleven I didn’t write him once. I picked up my quill with the intent to do so many times, but I could never think of anything to say. Why would he want a broken old man to write him? He knows nothing of me and I know nothing of him; it’s better to let him alone rather than expect him to take an interest in his father’s old school friend. Nonetheless, I am excited to meet him and to be his professor. Despite my lack of contact with him, I still care about him and hope to find him happy.

Oh! I haven’t mentioned the best part! When Dumbledore made the offer, I thought he’d expect me to use the Shack again for my transformations, but he explained that Wolfsbane Potion will be provided to me. It’s a recent invention that I’ve never been able to afford. The potion will allow me to keep my human mind while in wolf form, so I’ll be able to stay safely in my rooms and sleep through the moon. I’ll still be incapacitated the day before and after; breaking every bone in my body twice in one night is no small feat. However, I’ll no longer injure myself for lack of prey. The potion will be brewed by none other than Severus Snape, who’s been Potions master for years now. I can scarcely believe that he’s agreed to help me after I tried to kill him, and I know better to expect that all has been forgiven, but I hope this means we’ll have a professional, adult relationship. No, Padfoot, I am not worried that he’ll poison me, nor do I hate him as you lot always did. He’s a thoroughly unpleasant person, I agree, but he’s not given me reason for hatred.

Remember that case Prongs gave me as a joke in seventh year? The one with Professor R.J. Lupin stamped across the corner? I’ve been using it all these years, but I never expected I’d actually be given the title. Now, when I look at it, I’m torn between grief and amusement. It’s a common emotional state for me. I’ll be certain to take it with me to Hogwarts.

Love,

Moony


	7. Chapter 7

August 1st 1993

I’m not even surprised, really. If anyone could break out of Azkaban, it’s Sirius bloody Black. I’m even a bit surprised it took you this long, to be honest. Nonetheless, I dropped my mug when I saw the headline over breakfast.

Everyone is worried that you’ll go after Harry. Will you? You were willing to let him die in order to allow Voldemort’s rise to power, but would you kill him out of spite? I still can scarcely believe you were willing to kill him at all; I’ll never forget the look in your eyes when you first held him. I can’t believe that that love has entirely disappeared.

Will you come looking for me? What would you say to me? What would I say to you?

I could show you these letters. Would you care that I’ve been writing you for all these years? Would you even read them?

I know I’d tell you I still love you. Would you tell me the same?

I don’t know which answer would be worse.

Moony


End file.
